


Chronicles of Once Upon a Time, Book 1: Wherein Fairytales and Science Intertwine

by LucileNiege



Series: The Chronicles of Once Upon a Time's [1]
Category: Bones (TV), Castle, Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Adopted Sibling Relationship, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Rewrite, Car Accidents, Episode: s01e05 That Still Small Voice, Family Reunions, Foreshadowing, Mother-Daughter Relationship, Mother-Son Relationship, Multi, Past Child Abuse, Past Relationship(s), Pre-Curse Breaking, Road Trips, Separations, Sibling Bonding, Storybrooke, Summer Vacation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-25
Updated: 2013-11-10
Packaged: 2017-12-30 11:05:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1017839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LucileNiege/pseuds/LucileNiege
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When clever, beautiful and socially graceless Dr. Brennan finally reaches her 32nd birthday, its celebrated by the whole of her five friends and team of experts in the Jeffersonian; the heartfelt forensic artist Angela, paranoid forensic entomologist Dr. Hodgins, lionhearted FBI special agent Booth and no-nonsense forensic pathologist Dr. Camille “Cam” Saroyan. But with it, her birthday celebration is joined by an old connection to her past; fun-loving mystery writer Richard Castle, stoic homicide detective Kate Beckett with her team, imaginative Ryan, dependable Esposito and coroner Lanie. With a Jiminy Cricket-cake and a pink candle sent over by Castle, Brennan makes a wish.</p><p>But when Henry Mills calls over about Dr. Brennan’s past that is connected to the town of Storybrooke, Dr. Brennan finds herself wanting to get there as fast as she can; her team and Castle with his team and family volunteering to come over. Coming over, the Disney-like charm of Storybrooke easily spellbinds the teams. But there’s more to the town than what science can explain; something that a book with all their names in it and with many Disney fairytales. And soon, Emma Swan's fate is not the only one intertwined with Storybrooke anymore.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Thousand Lost Stories to Find

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nothingeverlost](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nothingeverlost/gifts), [Kedi (Heegee)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Heegee/gifts).



**Prologue:**

**A Thousand Lost Stories to Find.**

* * *

_Thou shalt not_  is soon forgotten, but  _once upon a time_  lasts forever

\- Phillip Pullman

* * *

Prince Charming ran into the nursery with his newborn daughter, Princess Emma, right in one arm and his sword into the other, straight in a beeline towards the magic wardrobe, lovingly crafted by the Royal Blanclairian Carpenter, Geppetto. One imprecise detail, one little mistake; Emma would be cursed into being sucked right into the Evil Queen's spell. Candlelight had made the purple ribbons of Emma's blanket agleam and the blood-drenched sword alit, heralding the escape of the Crown Princess. The golden, soft light had showed the details of the little princess; her wrinkled, reddish-pink skin, her pale blue eyes, the whiteness of her blanket and the silk of the purple ribbons sewn into the hem of the material. Fragile, helpless, new and absolutely beautiful; all to Queen Snow White and King David's happiness and absolute sorrow within her first minutes of life.

Precious seconds were left before the Evil Queen's guards would find him.

 _I love you, I love you, I love you_ ; the words ran through Charming's veins and through his blood like a sharp pain as he laid his daughter, caught within her sleep, right into the heart of the tree, magic flowing off the bark of the wardrobe, Charming feeling it within his chest. And lying her within the darkness of the wardrobe, there were so much bound within his heart, threatening to burst free.

There so much that had to be said, had to be done, a hundred moments that would pass for him as a father, a thousand times where she would need him within those long and distant 28 years, those 28 years that seemed to span out from his perception to centuries.

There was so much that Prince Charming wanted to do, wanted to say to his daughter.

Sing her to sleep with his beloved wife, his queen and friend, Snow at his side.

Play games with her around the palace, like hide and seek or chase or peek-boo with Grumpy and the other Seven dwarves.

Hold her when she cried or felt sad with Jiminy Cricket right at his side.

Teach her the ways of all the kingdoms within the Enchanted Forest, how to be a kind and just ruler to her people.

Ride through all of the forests and share a thousand of adventures around the many kingdoms.

But right now, all Prince Charming wanted to do was hold baby Emma close to his heart and never let go. And he nearly did. Pick her back up again and rush back to Snow so that they could share their last moments together, let the Dark Curse swallow them alive while they were still a family.

But Snow would never forgive him. There would be no way out of this spell, this magic-spun darkness. No chance of returning home, escaping the hell they were about to fall into. No chance of his daughter being saved, being protected. But she would she be any safer in a world so far away from this one than what was happening right now?

"PRINCE!"

There were the screams, monstrous and angry as the Evil Queen's guards came rushing down to the nursery, down to where the King and Crown Princess of Dorclair, the Saviour, was in the room silent. Time was trickling, time was water that was slipping though David's fingers as the Curse had drew closer and closer to the palace. There would be soon no more time left.

"No more happy endings," as the Dark One, Rumpelstitskin had described to Snow and David. No more happy endings for all who lived within the Enchanted Forest.

All except for one. (Or two.)

Making sure that her blanket was snugly wrapped around her, that Emma was properly within the midst of the wardrobe, Prince Charming lowered himself with a thousand words he wished he could say in his heart, right down to kiss little, beautiful, sleeping Emma right on her head.

" _ **Find us.**_ "

The doors were closed.

There was the snap of the lock.

The guards had burst in and with one fatal slice of a sword did Prince Charming fell down.

And in the swarthiness of the wardrobe, the Saviour was whisked right into another world.

 _Find us_ , Prince Charming thought as he lost himself into nothingness and darkness,  _find us, find us, find us, find us all._

* * *

From the east of the Royal Palace where Snow White and Prince Charming lived, the Dark Curse advanced the green and dark forests, rolling over the mirror-like surface of the wide river that looped around the palace and as it came wrapped itself around the stone walls and soon rolled over the great, towering mountains that separated the Eastern Realms of the Enchanted Forest from that of the Western Realms.

The Dark Curse, crafted and spun from the hands of Rumpelstitskin, had first struck the Kingdom of Blanclair, the kingdom once ruled by King George and then by the fair and kind Queen Snow White and King David. But after that, it would strike the other kingdoms too. There was the Kingdom of Dormonde, ruled by King Midas, which was right on the border of the East and the first beginning Western Realm.

Then the Kingdom of Lunaireaux. Then the Kingdom of Corona. Then, Rubisrose and Foireroi, Avalon and Belforet. All the twenty kingdoms and more within the Enchanted Forest came under the mercy of what the Evil Queen Regina, had crafted from flame and from the heart of whom she loved the most. And all the fairytale characters, all the people whom we had knew and loved and were read too as children?

They too, like those twenty kingdoms born from fairytales, were sucked into the dark, rumbling and rolling fog and black smoke; changing the design of the fates with them as the Dark Curse pulled them away from a reality they all knew.

It skimmed over the waters of the oceans and rolled over towering mountains, ran down valleys like raindrops and even reached to the skies of where the Greater Wanded Fairies, the fairies of the Blue Fairy's kind had lived. But it didn't just stop there. It seeped into one world and then to another; people snatched here and there at the desires and wishes of the Evil Queen's plans forged within the enchantment.

A young woman, brown-haired and blue eyed who once looked out at the stars on her window sill was stolen in a puff of black smoke as she looked herself within the mirror, wearing a white, cathedral-trained dress of lace where once all she needed to look beautiful was a long nightgown of Never blue.

A physician, black and white like those films your grandmother maybe would have once watched a long time ago, was right in the middle of undergoing adjustments to a hypothesis over lightening and the nervous system until he swept away in a blink of a eye before he could even scream out in shock.

A princess, a princess who was not really a princess or human for that little matter, held her true love in her arms, even as the Curse came rolling, her head high and red hair blowing around her. The Curse pulled over her, the windows of the wedding suite room blown into glittering pieces. All she could think of was a star-sprinkled night that reflected on the sea.

So many, too many, hundreds of fairytales stolen in their wake, so many fairytales to count on all twenty fingers. Werewolves, ladies donning red hooded cloaks, dwarves, fairies, sleeping beauties, shining knights, long-haired dreamers, noble thieves, princesses, princes; and even a little talking cricket and a mermaid to boot too!

All had went, all had gone. Within one spell, all in the Enchanted Forest was bare.

All except one little princess, a destined Saviour called Emma.

Because all the fairytales you know, they're not true.

Here is what happened...


	2. Wherein Fate Comes in the Form of Birthday Wishes

_**Chapter One:** _

**Wherein Fate comes in the form of Birthday Wishes.**

* * *

_"We are all in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars."_

_Oscar Wilde_

* * *

Now we all know that Emma Swan had gotten into town, all with the help of a little boy towards to a little town with the strangest name that you think of. What on the other hand you never knew was that was much more that Emma didn't know.

Emma was not the only one needed for the Curse to end.

And it started with a call back to Washington D.C and right to New York.

* * *

Henry Mills quietly and quickly came down the stairs, the wood of the staircase whispering out creaks that nevertheless, were never heard by his mother (well, in all actuality, adoptive mother) as she went ahead going over the economy papers around Storybrooke; and right now, she was wrestling with the hospital budget and the pay check for the nurses within the ICU department. The creaks were not enough to make his mother pay any attention to him but regardless to the lack of dangers, Henry wore rubber-soled shoes for extra precaution.

Ever since his mother (his real and actual mother, biological mother as scientists would call it) had first came into town, Henry admitted things had changed. However, as evidence had shown with his sprained ankle, torn muscle shoulder and that wound that needed a few stitches, some things like the sinkhole that he wished had never happened.

The evening moonlight had sent a clean gleam in Henry's dark brown eyes, glinting in his youthful and large dark brown eyes. There was the small height of four feet and three inches, making him one of the shortest people in his class seeing he was ten years old. Lanky and small, Henry figured he'd grow up to be taller, taller enough to be a knight finally.

He tip-toed down the staircase, gently coming onto the floor while keeping his steps quick and light. His mind suddenly flickered back to the storybook, bound in brown and handsome leather with gold lettering. That book, who ever had made it, held all the fairytales, all of everyone's lives within Storybrooke. Well, the fairytales he knew. Because of how much his mother, Regina Mills, attempted to take the book from him, the only fairytales he knew right now was that Snow White's and Red Riding Hood's. He still had to get to the others, try to see who else was what fairytale character. And besides, they were fun to read and Henry loved looking at the pictures at night when his mother was asleep.

But there was one detail he didn't notice until now.

Right at the very back (a page he still kept to himself), Henry was looking over the page, remembering the details. Upon the page was a picture, a picture of his mom, his real mom Emma, set into a border of intricate paintings and almost-invisible golden writing (seeing how small it was).

For nights upon end, Henry would scavenge around the house for something that could help him see what that handwriting was but in the end, it was always too small to actually being seen. That was until one day, his mom Emma gave him some money to buy some ice cream from the local ice cream parlor; seeing what happened just about a week ago. Well, let's just say that Henry decided to put towards more practical usage; twenty dollars went to buying a magnifying equipment case leaving two dollars and fifty cents left for Emma, explaining it that he used it to but extra helpings and a soda.

Just because he and his best friend Archie (well, really, therapist but he liked to think of it as friends) gotten into a sinkhole because of the Curse, it didn't mean Henry would give up. Imagine if all the characters in our fairytales gave up because things got hard?

So, as his mother turned off the nights and made her way back to bed after a 'date 'with Sheriff Graham, Henry made a nightly adventure down the staircase and to his mothers personal office with keys in hand, he made it back with book in hand and magnifying equipment ready. And the golden writing, so small that Henry needed to use a flashlight to make the handwriting glint so he knew where it was, was perfectly intact, arranged within the intricate picture border.

But it was nothing. But yet it was. It wasn't some riddle or message or warning or great prophecy, kind of like the prophecy that Harry Potter had that Henry had read for a school assignment. That didn't mean it wasn't big. In fact, Henry decided that the Curse wouldn't be broken, that everyone wouldn't get home with Henry having not discovered it.

They were a list of names. Separated by artwork dots in fancy writing, there were twenty-eight names hidden in the painting. Most of them made sense. Well, until there were the last eleven names that Henry didn't know from any fairytale he discovered on that list on Wikipedia. But they sounded like normal names; names from his world.

_Temperance Brennan. Seeley Booth. Jack Hodgins. Angela Montenegro. Camille Saroyan. Kate Beckett. Richard Castle. Alexis Castle. Kevin Ryan, Javier Esposito. Lane Parrish._

So, like he supposed was smart enough to do, he went to the library claiming he was doing research for a school project, went on a computer and searched up the names. And he ended up getting more than he thought he would get. Like the first five were apart of a group called the Medico-legal lab in a place called the Jeffersonian Institute, the others worked as police officers in New York. That they all lived in Washington D.C, at least ten hours away from Maine and ten and a half if you went straight to Storybrooke; New York being 7 hours and a half from the small town. That they were the best forensics investigative team in the whole wide world. And that the book knew them, that they were all needed if Storybrooke was to be freed.

Emma was the heart of the plot, the great heroine of the story. But every hero or heroine had her team, her group that would support her and fight with her. And those names, those twenty-eight names were the names of her group members.

He looked up the Jeffersonian website, looking over the crime and forensics displays within the museum, seeing its connections with the Smithsonian Institute and contained the info about the group. Like the lab's phone number.

Scribbling it down as it dawned to 3 o'clock and rushed straight home with the excuse that he was with Paige, all he had to do now was get going to the phone. But for now, he had to get of his mother first.

"Henry, you've got a session with Dr. Hopper tomorrow morning, alright?"

Her prim and proper voice rang out, Henry instantly freezing, his heart feeling as if the ground might fall underneath him. "Yep, mom!" He said, his voice wobbling, only by a tony bit. Apparently, his mother didn't notice.

"Well, Henry, I have a meeting with the town counsel in a few minutes but I will be back in half an hour. You know the rules, right, my little prince?"  _Prince._  The word could have being easily switched with the word pet and it would still sound the same, much to Henry's opinion. It was the little name that Henry could remember from when he was a little boy, much before he had the book.

"Yep, mom. No outdoors, no calling anybody, answering the door or answering the phone."

"Good boy." He could hear the rattle of keys and the snap of her bag coming closed, soon accompanied by the click of heels against the wood of the floor. They stopped, just right behind him. "I love you, Henry."

He turned around, kissing his mother in a well-practiced way, like how someone could roll their eyes or remember Shakespeare poetry. An soon, with the wound of clicking heels following her, Henry's mother opened the door and closed it. And only after when her car had drove out the parking area and disappeared from the vision of the windows, that was when Henry moved once more.

His gentle and quick movements had turned into a scrabble, quickly moving into the kitchen area where the phone had hung on the wall. Almost running, Henry pulled out the shred of paper containing the numbers of the Jeffersonian Institute from his pocket, freshly written just hours ago.

**209-529-410.**

Henry looked over the numbers, grapping for the phone on the kitchen counter with the strip of paper still in his fingers. Pushing the numbered buttons slowly and carefully, Henry had taken a deep breath and recited a reason. "I need to talk with Dr. Brennan and the forensics team about a school project about forensics," he recited to himself, imagining the adminisator at the end of the line.

Once he gotten beyond her and got talking to the team, then he could finally reach Dr. Brennan, Hodgins, Angela and Booth. There was the buzz of a empty line for a few moments as Henry held it to his ear, still checking the vision of the windows that the car didn't suddenly drive back. And then there was the receptionist, speaking cooly. "Jefferson Institute, how may I help you?"

"I need to talk with Dr. Brennan and the forensics team about a school project about forensics," Henry parroted.

Time for the adventure to begin.

* * *

Eleven hours and 675 miles away from the state Main and straight into the city of Washington D.C, right now the Jeffersonian Institute Forensic Branch was basically empty of cases to do. But that didn't mean the place was abuzz with something. Because today was someone's birthday; in this case, the head forensic anthropologists birthday, Dr. Brennan's 32nd birthday at that. But however, Dr. Brennan was not much in for a great mood at all.

"Ange, no, honestly, I don't want to celebrate!" Dr. Brennan said tiredly for what seemed like the one-hundredth time for her, going over three greenstick fractures within the chest of a eleven year olds skull.  _Must likely caused by adult, determined by the nature of the break,_  Dr. Brennan determined to herself. Angela Montenegro could only sigh in response.

"Brennan, it's only out at the Founding Fathers for some drinks and a slice of birthday cake, nothing massive," Angela said. "And Brennan, we already caught the killer; why the hell are you going over the remains again?"

"I need to be sure the evidence is correct when it comes for the persecution and the judge to look over, I thought you knew that," Dr. Brennan said coolly. Looking over at the evidence box, she figured now was the best time to start packing the remains up. Picking up the skull, she looked it – or in her mind's eye, her – in the eye.

Zara Heathridge was at least 6 years old, as seen upon the incomplete fusing of the skull bones and ossification of the fontanelles along with the greenstick fractures. Evidence of Zara being female came from the size and shape of her pelvic bones – pelvic girdle being round and large to accompany gestation and childbirth in later years. From the lack of clothing on scene and damage to pelvic area, sexual assault was evident all while the greenstick fractures had proved choking and organ damage.

Thinking of it, Dr. Brennan could only see it the way since she first came in the Jeffersonian as a young intern; to strip away the flesh and the blood, you would find bones and deeper inwards, pure and simple and sometimes saddening or horrifying truths. You came into the world through a creature of flesh and blood and beating heart and came out of the world as a bare skeleton with your life bared upon the bones. Life was as simple as that. (Right? Temperance thought to herself).

"Bren, please," Angela begged, Dr. Brennan busying herself with packing the bones. By this time, she had gotten to rib bones and now was proceeding to the pelvic bones, so small for a child. "It's just a party, just a small, teeny-tiny gathering with your friends. Over wine. And birthday cake. Did I mention it was strawberry and dark chocolate?"

"About the third time, as I can recollect."

Angela blow out a small fringe of her hair. Hair like of a inky black that was always tousled, the professional lights of the bone room had shown the light brown complexion of her skin, her full lips, her intelligent and dark eyes. The light was also cast upon Brennan; the porcelain white skin, sleek hair of a beautiful auburn colour, the even darker eyes, the slenderness of her form, the bones hidden underneath her skin. Angela could tell how this woman had gotten so many dates.

"Can you at least still come? Just to celebrate?"

Dr. Brennan breathed out. "Alright. I'll be over at 7."

Angela squealed, nodding her head. A small thought suddenly flickered over her mind. "Anyway… what about presents?"

Dr. Brennan shrugged, more occupied with making sure the femur bones got into the box safely than discussing birthday details. "What about them?"

Angela bit her lip, almost nervously. "Well… we all know that you happen to love adventure, so… Hodgins thought that maybe, if we all gotten this little van and well, maybe went on a small road trip around the place - "

"NO. Angela, no, absolutely not." Brennan finally gotten the bones in the box, closing the lid with a quick snap, and made her way out of the room. She'd have to call for a taxi since her car had broke down back at her apartment parking and right now seemed like the best time.

"And why the hell not?" Angela asked. "Look, only Booth, Hodgins, Cam and I are coming along and it'll be up the Boston and then back down again to Washington D.C! Cam doesn't have a problem with it, Hodgins can easily pay for it and tomorrow the weekend starts so - "

"Ang, when people think of presents, they think birthday cards or perfume or new clothes or - "

"A whole weekend of adventure with their friends? What's wrong with that?" Angela asked.

Brennan huffed. "I just… don't want you wasting time and money on me, Ang. You know how I'm like around birthdays." Birthdays was never a great occasion for Dr. Brennan as a adult; they were celebrations, events that were glittering memories of her childhood that she preferred she left behind. There were more important events ahead of her than that one day when she gained one more year to slipping youth.

"Bren."

"I'll be in my office." Dr. Brennan ignored the concern in Angela's face and made her way out. Breath in, breath out, breath in, breath out; in, out, in, out.

It was not long until she finally gotten to her office. When she was a intern who only left from college with her bachelors in forensic science, she would have never imagined ever having a office of her own, Her boss, Cam's office, was much more larger but however, Brennan enjoyed the simplicity and treasure trove in which Brennan had made her office into. The Egyptian mummified corpses in their glass cases, the Ancient Greek relics, the prehistoric objects. A grotto of items lost within time, like how the little mermaid's grotto up on land and a lot more neater.

But right there, on the desk, there was a package. Small and circular, the present box was that of lavender and tied up with a ribbon of spring green silk, right in the middle of the desk. Cautiously, Dr. Brennan walked over. Open it or look for Booth? You'd be surprised with the danger attached with working within forensics; her friend Angela had learned the hard way, the way being a little present of a human heart sent to her.

On the box, Dr. Brennan could see a small card attached upon the large bow right on top of the boxes lid. Taking the box, carefully, into her hands, she looked over the card as she sat in her chair. The writing loopy and messy, it brought her back to a memory of being younger, brighter, so much less worldly, saying:

Tempy,

Time has passed for the pair of us and even more has changed. It's amazing what time does to us, doesn't it? Especially over three years. Anyway, Tempy, I heard it's your 32nd birthday today so I thought, since five years have passed…maybe we can try and start over again. As friends and nothing more.

You know my phone number, that's one thing that hasn't changed ever.

Dr. Brennan smiled. Warm and bright, remembering. From reading it, she could simply hear that warm and cocky voice in her head from so long ago; she could only hope that the years didn't have a effect over that. Getting the phone, she dialled a number with a small hum on her breath. She didn't need a signature to know who it was.

There was much of three years that she would have to catch up on.

* * *

The moon was high, it was 11 at night, the phone had rang and Richard Castle was grumpy as seven hells, seeing he spent the whole day and night going over a case involving a fantasy roleplaying club, a mentally ill mother and a case of wheat flour containing fungus with disturbing hallucinations. And he couldn't write. And just as he crawled into bed, hoping he can could maybe sleep in until 11 or even 1 in the after noon, Castle's IPhone had rang.

"Shit, bugger, hell," Castle moaned into the sheets. At least I had the time to get into bed, Castle quickly thought to himself, looking over at the phone. Even after nearly a year of being within the Ney York Police Force, Castle was still adjusting to the late hours of which were attached to the job like thorns upon a lovely rose. Late hours had stretched his sleeping hours and right now, he had enough experience to know that the seat of his desk in his writing office was comfortable enough if you had put a pillow to support your back on it; or risk the 99.9% chance you would wake up and find yourself – temporarily – hunchbacked for a few hours.

Grabbing the phone, he rubbed the sleep away from his eyes and yawned. After this, he was definitely sleeping until 3 in the afternoon. "Richard Castle, how may I help you?"  _And why the hell are you calling me at 11 in the middle of the night, stranger?_ Was naturally added in the tone of his voice.

"Late night, Richard?"

He stopped. That voice, cool as winter's frost and as elegant as any queen from the pages of a storybook; and warm, a warmth he only heard in his memories at night captured and bound within her voice, only heard by him and his daughter.

"Temperance?"

Awkward silence followed. "Yep, Brennan over here."

He listened to her words, to the sound of her voice. And he laughed. "God, Tempy, it's being so long. How's things being going for you? Everything alright with your team? How did the trip to Cairo go?"

"Um," she stumbled over her words, Castle sitting up on the bed, "everything's being fine. The trip to Cairo was well… wonderful, actually, much analytical work going on along with interesting work upon mummification. Angela found a job in the Jeffersonian, Hodgins…"

"Still conspiring over GPS's in cars planted by the government?" Castle mused, smirking.

"And right now over the existence of television surveillance." The smirk on her face could be heard in her voice, Castle laughing. "Right now, the Jeffersonian forensics team is looking for interns at the moment, but other than that everything is alright."

He cleared his voice, listening to her closely. There were those moments, long ago and which still occurred even to today, that Castle would love to just stay still and listen to the sound of Brennan's voice. Right now, he could have put up with her comments over the existence of supernatural creatures, mini anthropology lessons which somehow had relevance on baseball games and comic books, mistakes on pop culture and ramblings on the forensic mistakes on crime shows all night long, just to make up for those million moments in those three years Castle wished he could hear Brennan's voice.

On the other side, a sense of apprehension could be felt over at her side. "How's Martha and Alexis?"

He smiled. "Martha's now over at my place, someone scammed her; for the fourth time. And Alexis…" Now was his time for a moment of awkwardness, words hardening into a lump in his throat. (She missed you so much and still does and so does Martha and Meredith and the Governor and me and sometimes there were these moments that I wished you just came back home and didn't go away.) "She's very well thanks. She's on the honour roll, sixteen years old right now. She's hoping to enter criminology once she graduates from school."

"Alexis was always a clever girl," Brennan said softly. "Is she… does she still sleep with Blinky? Still likes… Ariel, I think?"

He smiled gently. "Well, she did get it from someone, with you… you being around her when she was little." On the other side, he could hear her clear his throat. "Well, she's come to like Rapunzel and Mulan better these days, good guess by the way. And, she'll say no about Blinky but Brennan, try and throw him out to the trash, and she'll give you one mean Spock pinch."

"Castle, it's a pressure point pinch, remember that." Castle could easily imagine Brennan in her office, rolling her eyes at that little Star Trek reference; what seemed like long ago, they would spend hours in the kitchen arguing over pop culture references while little Alexis would sit at the kitchen island eating her afternoon lunch.

"Spock pinch sounds cooler."

"Certainly it does, Richard." She giggled, Castle closing his eyes and his smile becoming brighter. "I suppose Blinky still has the resemblance to road kill?" She asked warmly.

"Between a snot rag, in my opinion, and road kill," he told.

"Anyway, you opened your present?" Castle asked.

* * *

Tears were building in Brennan's eyes, her vision focused upon the box, listening to the phone where Castle's voice rang from despite being miles and hours away. Back up on the display area, Brennan could hear Hodgins talking with Sweets; most likely over his paranoia. She twirled her fingers around the bow of the ribbon, silky underneath her touch. Once upon a time, Castle would positively spoil her with birthday gifts that only gotten more elaborate – more special – as the years went by and Castle's books had gotten more publicity and Castle became wealthier. Brennan would tell him not to, Castle say he wouldn't, but at the end of the day, Brennan would come back to his apartment with a big birthday present that she simply could not deny.

"I suppose I wanted to call you before I opened it," she said. "Richard, please tell me it's not perfume or jewellery. Please, I've got enough to open a jewellery line." Temperance picked up the box, feeling the weight of it. Whatever it was, it seemed somewhat heavy, not light.

"Open the box, and see what's in there."

She smirked. She pulled open the ribbon, the bow coming apart and leaving the lid ready to be opened. And opening the lid, she smiled, closing her eyes. Opening her eyes, the tears were only threatening to spill out. And with two hands, easing the phone onto her shoulder and into the crook of her long neck, easing the present out of the box. It was a cake, a cake not large enough to be a proper birthday cake but not small enough to be a cupcake. With a bright green ribbon wrapped around the cake, Brennan could smell the fragrance of chocolate icing and cake. And right in top of the icy, a little pink star-candle was on top with a iced cricket wearing a top hat and proper clothes.

"Happy birthday, Tempy!" Castle cried on the other side of the phone, having heard her gasp.

She laughed, putting it right at the middle of her desk. The light of her office light had glinted against the marzipan of the tiny cricket, Brennan's mind having went somewhere, searching for a name; Brennan would spend hours doing film marathons with Alexis when she got sick, Disney somehow having its way of popping up. "Like the extra detail, Richard."

"While, I always knew your love for Disney."

"Who ever said I loved Disney? Where's your evidence?"

"Exhibit A is being you and Alexis watching the Little Mermaid over and over again, Exhibit B being the worn out DVD player. Anyway, love the cricket, Tempy?" Castle asked over the phone, his voice in a comical-lawyer voice at the first sentence.

"Love the cricket, looks delicious. Omnomnomnom," she said lightly. "Anyway, Jumbo…"

"Jiminy Cricket's the name you're looking for."

"Right, Jiminy looks lovely."

"And right now," Richard sad lovingly, "he's waiting to make your wish come true."

She cleared her throat, looking at the cake. Outside, she could hear all her friends outside, waiting for her. "Richard?"

"Yes, Tempy?"

She looked outside, the silhouettes of her co-workers, her friends easily seen. They were planning a night out for Founding Father's and soon, a road trip right up to Boston and then right back down. "Richard, do you mind if I could have my friends come in? Just to make the wish with me? Maybe you can have your friends come over here too?"

He laughed. "Alright. Lanie, Ryan, Espo, Kate! Come over here, I want you to meet a old friend of mine!"

 _Old friend_. How very ironic, how humorous two words made of their long past, of who they once had being, being old friends. Taking the phone away from her ear, she craned her neck over to where her friends could be seen. "Hodgins! Angela! Cam! Booth! Can you come over here?" She shouted.

The light outside were dim, shadows dancing in the forensics lab. And dark figures advanced to the glass doors of her office, their faces revealed in the warm, yellow light.

Hodgins was the first to run over, a scarf halfway between be tied around his neck like the noose to a dead man. His bright blue eyes glimmered from the darkness, his neat hair looking a little frizzy from where Brennan stood. The beginnings of her short beard could be seen, his stance tall from 5'6 and leanly muscled. And right now, a coat was pulled over him. The glimmer of his badge, brightly declaring in red and blue words 'the truth is out there, "could be seen underneath his coat and pinned onto his blue sweater. "Everything alright, Dr. Brennan?"

Right after him, was Camille Saroyan, 'Cam' being the lab's unofficial nickname for the Head of the Forensics Branch. Statuesque and slender, she wore her professionalism on her face like a mask, a slight frown seen upon her lips as she walked in. With her glossy hair of black and dark complexion of light brown, Cam was wearing her usual fashions of sleekly designed dresses, clean-cut blouses and shirts along with form-fitting trousers, the large raincoat seemed out on place on her.

The third last behind, Angela had sped right into the room while in the middle of wrapping her scarf around her. And right behind her, flustered and ready for the fight as always, there was Booth. Just a few inches senior to her height, six feet verse five feet and eight inches, Booth may a well being the Prince Charming in real life; the clean cut dark brown hair, deep hazel eyes, the sharp-lined jaw, broad shoulders and muscled frame.

"Is there a fire?" Hodgins asked, his eyes sheepishly searching around the place, until his vision had reached the cake, a wide grin spreading on his face. "So who sent you the Jiminy Cricket cake over?"

"Me, to be more precise." Castle's voice rang from the speaker on Brennan's phone. "You wouldn't believe her love for - "

"Richard, shut it," Brennan coolly chided. Not too far away, she could see Angela's eyebrows rise, her eyes questioning. "Guys, this is a old friend of mine living in New York. Richard Castle, meet my friends."

"Wait." Angela held up a hand, "Richard. Richard Castle. Like Richard Castle of New York, who is the global bestselling author to the Nikki Heat series and the Derrick Storm Saga, Richard Castle?"

"Yep, yep and holding 8th place for New York's eligible bachelor list," Castle added. At that, every person in the room had their eyebrow unconsciously rise at that response. Except for Angela, it was more directed at her best friend, who was still innocently sitting in her chair.

"And you sent over a cake. To Dr. Brennan. For what reason, dearie?" Angela asked.

"Actually, good question, why?" That time, it was Booth, his voice that usual stern and commanding tone; desiring only respect, perfected over years of services within the US military and FBI work.

"Well… because everybody loves birthday cake on their birthdays. Especially if a Disney character is on top of it," Castle said lightly. Hodgins could only shrug, as if that explained the whole situation.

"So guys, this is Richard," Brennan introduced, "Richard, the man you just heard is Booth, my partner and officer at the Jeffersonian."

Booth cleared his throat, coming over to the desk and closer to the phone. "Agent Seeley Booth of the Federal Bureau of Investigation to you, Mr Castle."

Castle gasped. "You work with the FBI, how neat! And that other lady? The lady with the bedroom voice, Angelique I think you called her, Tempy?"

"Close call," Angela said, smiling at his comment. "The lady with the bedroom voice, as you call it, is Brennan's best friend, Angela. Forensic artist, big fan of Nikki Heat and Derrick Storm. Anyway, love page 105 of Heat Wave. And I loved the character of Lady Athena Rebann in the Derrick Storm books."

Brennan coughed and Castle chuckled. "She was always one of my favourite characters to write, Miss Angela. I've heard much about you over the years. And the other men?"

"Oh, right," Brennan said calmly, gesturing Hodgins to come closer to the phone while Angela's eyes widened, "This guy over here is Dr. Jack Hodgins, the primary forensic entomologist within the Jeffersonian, a close colleague of mine."

"Nice to met you, Mr. Castle," Hodgins said, smiling brightly at the phone.

"Good to meet you Jackie. And…anyone else?"

"Camille Saroyan, over here," Cam gently explained. "Brennan's boss, pathologist. I was once a coroner over at New York. How's everything over there, Mr. Castle with the NYPF?"

"You used to live in New York? And work in the police force?"

"Born there and lived there for twenty-odd years until I moved over to D.C." Cam pursed her lips. "And how is everyone in the police force going?"

"Well, actually! But, anyway, today is Tempy's 32nd birthday so… perhaps we could make a wish?" Castle suggested.

Brennan bit her lip, fiddling with the ring on her finger. "Make a wish?" Brennan asked slowly.

"Yea, Brennan, make a wish," Booth said brightly, "it's tradition! Upon your birthday, you make a wish and blow out the candles, and with faith and magic - "

"Your wish comes true," Cam finished for Booth, clearly recalling from childhood memory. Cam seen the cool look on Brennan's face, huffing as she supported herself, one hand on the desk that held her up. "Come on, Dr. Brennan, one wish, you only need to make one wish."

"Um…" Brennan blew a strand of her hair away from her face, uncertain.

"Oh, god, guys," Castle's voice had brought Brennan and all her friend's attention, "I want you to meet my friends. First of all, Kate Beckett, my partner in the New York Police Force," Castle said smoothly.

"And partner though work only, before you get any ideas." Kate's voice was stern, a sense of stoicism that reminded Brennan much of Booth and Cam. But before she knew it, Cam's eyes widened at the sound of the woman.

"Beckett? Detective Beckett?"

From the phone line, Brennan could hear Beckett gasp. "Camille?"

"Yes, yes, it's me, Dr. Saroyan!" Cam cried, a wide smile seen upon her face.

"On my god, Camille, it's being years!" Beckett said excitedly from the phone line, it's being years since I last heard from you! I only came into the homicide department in the police force when I first met you! You moved to D.C?"

"Better job, better equipment," Cam said gently, grinning, "Head of the forensics department now, with a larger office; at last."

"But wait, I thought you - "

"Wait, wait, ladies," Hodgins said over the pair of them, looking not too far away from a rabbit in the headlights of a car, "question,  _how do you know each other_? Did you used to work together once back in New York, were you best friends?"

"An excellent question by Dr. Saroyan," Castle quipped.

"Which I think," Booth added, "you should tell all of us. Just to clear up confusion."

Cam smiled, turning to face all of them. "I used to work as a coroner in New York, you all probably know that by now. Lived in New York until I moved to D.C at least four years ago, finally gotten a call from the Smithosonian and became Head of the Forensics Branch. That's what you know. What you don't know was that I was a detective within the NYPD for eleven years before I became a coroner, long before Beckett came into the department."

"And when I first came into the police as a rookie officer," Beckett said knowledgably, "Camille was second only to Montgomery, the best of the best and at the time was also the Head Coroner with Lanie," she explained to Castle this time, "as her assistant."

"Speaking of which, is she fine?"

"Why don't you ask me that yourself, Cammie?" This time it was the voice of Lanie speaking.

"Lana? My god, Lanie, how are you?!" Cam asked. Hodgins looked as if he was going to fall asleep on the spot from all this talking and Angela looked in between the phone and Cam and Brennan with incedlous eyes. Apparently, Brennan thought to herself as she fiddled with her fountain pen, she wasn't the only one who made friends in New York.

"Well, ever since you left, Montgomery made me the Head Coroner," – Cam laughed encouragingly at that – "but, well, no one could match up to you. Not even little perfect me, by Montgomery's words.

"Aw, I'm sure you make up for the gapping hole. Speaking of him, tell the little bastard next time you met him, he owes me a poker match," Cam said playfully. Kate laughed and Lanie snorted.

"You sure you want to do that, Camille?" Kate asked.

"As we all know," Castle sneakily advised, "He'll have stepped up his game ever since you first left. And trust me, he plays a mean game of poker with those cards of his."

"And it's even worse when it comes to gambling." This time it was another new voice, fresh and seemingly young from what everyone believed.

"Guys," Castle introduced, "This is apart of the team, detective Kevin Ryan. And with him, is his partner Javier Esposito, Esposito really. Espositio, Ryan, say hello!"

"Nice to meet you all," Ryan said politely.

"And good to hear from you again, Cam," said Javier, everyone easily hearing that faint Jamaican accent as he spoke into the phone.

"Now," Castle started, "Tempy, I didn't send you that cake for nothing. Let's get going with the wishing!"

Everyone cheered, both in the lab and other at Castle's apartment. Before Brennan could stop her, Angela hurried off to find some matches or a firelighter while Hodgins looked around for a knife to cut the cake into slices. "You mind me using a scalpel?" Hodgins asked Cam, searching in his pockets. It only taken one second to get a response, a blatant no from the pathologist; and she didn't even have to say a single word.

After scrambling around Angela's unit, Angela by pure luck, found a box of fresh matches and Booth had ran up to the kitchen and fetched a knife to cut the cake in.

"Okay, Brennan, one wish," Angela said as she lit the candle, Hodgins turning off the lights.

"And make it quick, it'll be midnight and I need to get some sleep," Booth warned, looking at the iron wrought clock that was close to the glass case of mummified corpse.

"That'll make it more special," Castle mused, "more magical."

The lights were turned off, the only light being the soft glow coming from the flame. It illuminated the sarcasm on Brennan's face (perhaps even hopefulness, if you looked a little closer), glowing like the star in which was designed on top of the cherry pink birthday candle. It radiated against Jiminy Cricket's face and marzipan suit, bringing out the expectation in all of their eyes.

"Happy Birthday to you," Hodgins started, "Happy Birthday to you," - everyone began to sing along, both those in the lab and those over the phone, Hodgins moving his arms not too far from how a conductor of a orchestra would move his, "Happy Birthday…"

Brennan looked over the cake, the flame of which danced upon the candle. The concept of making wishes upon birthdays or upon stars was an idea that she left behind in her childhood; not to mention, as a woman of empirical beliefs, it was very much impossible to make wishes upon balls of gasses in the sky and expect for that wish to come to life, to believe in fairytales in general.

Growing up, Brennan could only admit that she as a young child (and secretly, even now as a adult) she was a fan of Disney. She would dream of breaking curses, fighting pirates, flying towards magical islands, swimming with mermaids and being awakened by true loves kiss. But then, over time, reality came. No matter how much she wished upon stars, kissed frogs, read fairytales or recited made up spells; no magic could truly exist. Fantasy was fantasy, reality was reality. That's what she believed.

But we know better.

But. But deep down inside of her, a little flame of innocence that only burned on by a thread of want, Brennan desperately wanted to believe. (Those stories, those tales that she watched by Walt Disney… they couldn't be wrong? Could they be real?) Castle, Esposito, Ryan, Lanie, Kate, Hodgins, Angela, Cam and Booth's voices had mingled together, Brennan's heart tightening in a small sense of expectation.

And with one small breath held in, her eyes tightly shutting. She wished.

_I wish that I can find her once more._

And with the last note of the song reaching its peak, Brennan's held in breath had blew from her lips and killed the flame in one single breath. Everyone clapped, Booth whooped and Castle cheered.

But as if by magic, as if Brennan's wish had summoned it, the phone began to ring, loudly and clearly that pierced the birthday air.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let's just say that with one phone call, a small piece of Temperance's past comes to light, Henry sends an invite to Storybrooke and it's safe to say that, in the words a fairytale - their quest has only begun. >:D

Everyone’s eyes had shifted around the whole of the room, but mostly shifting towards to Dr. Brennan; she looked at the phone with a innocent but quizzical look, all as the clock had just stroked midnight for when she made her wish.

“Okay,” Booth said slowly, eying the phone much like some bomb that was ready to go off any minute, “What did you wish for?”

“A hot date on the other side of the phone?” Angela asked. She waggled her eyebrows jokingly, Brennan rolled her eyes and somehow Hodgins just laughed at his colleagues antics. Cam straightened up, her eyebrows a criss-cross line of worry.

“Someone should answer it,” Kate said calmly.

“Put them on the line, so we can hear it too,” Ryan suggested helpfully.

The phone kept ringing and ringing, Brennan still looking at it. And slowly, with all the eyes in the room following her hand cautiously, Cam reached for the phone. Looking around, she huffed and put a hand on her hip with one hand still clutched around the phone. _Honestly guys,_ her eyes said for her in one glare, _it’s just the phone ringing._ Pressing the speaker button, Cam took a breath and opened her eyes. “Jeffersonian Institute Department of Forensic, you have the whole team here, how may I help you?”

“The whole team?”

Everyone’s eyes widened. Brennan was expecting the district attorney over to gain evidence. Hodgins was thinking of a criminal, a serial killer on the phone ready to leave a hint. Angela thought that a date, some handsome man that Brennan probably dreamed of. And Cam just expected the judge over, considering Cam herself had told him to call her over the details of the trial. And over the phone, back in New York, there were five more ideas bubbling in Ryan, Esposito, Lanie, Beckett and Castle’s minds.

“Is Dr. Brennan, Dr. Hodgins, Miss Montenegro, Dr. Saroyan and Agent Booth there?”

It was none of those things. That didn’t mean it was a complete surprise.

Angela looked around all of them. “Um, yes, we all are…”

“And the rest? Detective Beckett, Detective Ryan, Detective Esposito, Dr. Parish and Mr. Castle? Are they too?”

“Uh, yeah, we’re here too,” Castle said, his voice unusually slow. “You know how?”

 

“Just do.”

“And you are…?” Brennan asked. Her eyes were wide, pulling her shrug around her slender form as if the room became colder, looking at everyone. No one seemed to have a clue in what the hell was going on.

It wasn’t the judge, a serial killer, hot date, attorney or five different other people. It was a little boy over the phone, probably around 10 or 11 years old as Brennan suspected. “Henry Mills,” Henry said knowledgably, “Henry Mills from Storybrooke.”

* * *

 Now, 10 hours away from Washington D.C and 7 hours away from New York, Henry was on the phone with the New York Police Department and Jeffersonian Institute. While in his mom’s office back in the town hall (he found the keys in his mom’s wallet and replaced them with the keys to the pantry; the pair were so similar that it wouldn’t be the first time his mother got confused between the pair of them). On her computer, on her email; thankfully, he wrote down Richard Castle’s personal email address and the Jeffersonian’s email. All while he balanced the phone on his shoulder.

“Storybrooke?” Dr. Brennan (he thought) said questionably. “Never heard of it.”

“You probably haven’t,” Henry said. He knew outsiders couldn’t get in, not unless the Curse desired them to. If anyone got in, questions would be raised and soon, people would discover magic and break the Curse. They, Henry hoped, could. “It’s in Maine,” Henry said helpfully, “and it’s pretty small but not too small. Just right.”

“Okay… this is Detective Beckett here,” Detective Beckett said, Henry listening, “I need to ask. Why are you calling over here? Why do you need all of us?”

“School project, kid?” someone else (Ryan, unknown to Henry) suggested, rather brightly, kind of like he had no problem. His voice was different from Detective Beckett’s voice; his seemed nicer, a lot more casual. But to the detective’s voice, Henry found it sounded a little bit like his mom; demanding authority, precise in her words.

“Well, if so,” another man said worryingly, (Hodgins), “Henry, you should be in bed. Your mom will probably go ahead and kill you if she finds out you’ve being calling us at midnight when you should be in bed. But,” the man suggested kindly, “we wouldn’t mind you calling us tomorrow, so good-“

 

“Wait!” Henry cried. He was getting a map of town from the town website and onto the box of the email, very close to it. “Dr. Brennan?”

“Yes?” Her voice was quizzical.

“You had a sister? A sister named Emma?”

He could hear her gasp. And it was silent. Just for a few heartbeat moments did Dr. Brennan not speak, like she was letting the truth sink into her heart, letting herself go over what Henry said. “Like… like Emma… Emma Ruth Leopolda Brennan? That Emma?” Her voice was so shaky, her voice would’ve have being glass if one could make her voice into an object.

He nodded, finally getting the map into the email. “Well, it’s Emma Ruth Leopolda Swan now. She changed, from her last foster family… I think, or she just thought it was pretty and chose it for her last name.” Henry wondered if Emma knew that she was named after her grandma and grandpa, Ruth and Leopold. “You were her adopted sister? Right?”

Henry could hear her swallow. “Yes. For a few years I was until… until I entered the foster system, yeah.”

“So…that makes you my… adopted aunt? I think? I’m adopted too but you were Emma’s adopted sister - ”

“ ** _Wait, what?!”_** Brennan nearly screeched over the phone. Henry had placed the phone at arms length away from how loud it was. He looked around, making sure that his mom was not around.

“Holy shit, Brennan, _you had a adoptive sister?”_ Hodgins whispered, his voice a mere buzz on the phone.

“When the hell were you going to tell us? This Emma was-”

“Henry, you are my adoptive nephew? How? What the hell, is this a joke?” Dr. Brennan interrupted Angela, demanding answers. The fairytale book was in Henry’s lap, lying on the last page with all their names on it.

“I know when Emma was 8, she came into your home as a foster kid but after a few months, your mom and dad decided to adopt her. But after four years,” Henry recited from memories, “your mom and dad had went missing and Emma was 11 when she was made a foster kid again. She was taken to Boston and you were put into foster care, far away from Emma. And you never heard from her again. Ever.”

 

“And you need all of us, how?” Detective Beckett asked, still somehow calm and professional in spite of it all. Right now, Henry could hear desperate whispering over the phone, immediately cut off by Brennan’s shushes.

“Because Emma needs help,” Henry said. He knew right now, he was going to lie. And right now, he was thankful he was not Pinocchio because the lie he was going to tell would probably make his nose grow as long as the length of the room. “There’s being a murder is Storybrooke, someone from New York.”

“Someone from New York,” Detective Beckett muttered to someone else, “that would make it our department. How would the Jeffersonian be involved in this?”

“My mom, my adopted mom, the mayor, she said the body was a skeleton. And don’t you guys investigate skeletons? My mom, Emma,” Henry said quickly, “said that we would need a team of forensic experts to see it, right?”

“Um, true, kid, really true,” Booth said. “But Storybrooke, none of us know where Storybrooke is.”

“That’s why I’m sending you over a map,” Henry said brightly, typing down the email addresses, “so you can find the way and help Emma. And maybe you can see Emma again, Dr. Brennan. Or,” Henry asked himself curiously, “should I call you Aunt Temperance?”

“Wait, kid, what,” Castle asked, “when did all of us ever say that we would actually-”

“I’ll see you over at Storybrooke!” Henry happily said. And pressing a button, the phone call was ended.

 

Henry looked around, shadows dancing in the midst of the darkness that occupied the Mayor’s office. It flew over the interior palette of ink blacks and snow whites, shrouded by the midnight moonlight that was gone in a second and back in a minutes span. He found the chair was comfy, Regina just down at the hospital sorting out the funds for the ICU, the light of the computer hurting his eyes.

He clicked Send. And in a small noise, Microsoft Outlook gave the herald that the email was finally sent. All of them would probably get the email within a few seconds or one minute, depending on how well the internet service was. But now, he’d focus on having to get home. Pushing himself off the chair, Henry quickly fetched his coat. Pulling his arms into the sleeves, he looked around, groping the desk for his flashlight. But with it, his arm brushed a few papers down to the ground. _Crap_ , Henry thought to himself. Quickly, he gathered the pairs and arranged back into a neat mess upon the desk, looking somewhat similar to how Henry seen them first in the office. This time, after a second attempt, his hand finally found the torchlight.

With a flicker, the flashlight was on and Henry looked around, much like a scout. From the stories, Henry knew that Snow was always smart enough to scout around when she was on the run. Feeling around his pockets, he drew out the keys to the office, silver grey glinting in the yellow electric light. He ran towards the entrance, running around the centrepiece table and then running trough the door, turning around and closing it with the keys. And turning around, he looked around, listening for movement. Slowly and carefully, Henry made his way down the creamy and dark-shrouded corridors, counting his lucky stars that he decided to wear rubber-soled shoes that night when he made his way down the stairway.

After ten minutes of carefully making his way around rooms, Henry had thankfully made his way down to the entrance of the town hall. Almost sprinting, he stopped at the door and slowly, with the utmost precision, Henry opened the door and carefully stepped out, closing the doors and looking around for anyone, drew out the keys and locked the door.

 

Henry was safe. The moonlight hide his small form, the old worlde streetlamps giving him the chance to make his way back home before any of his moms found him. Looking around, seeing it was a Thursday night, it seemed like the impending weekend air had gotten to everyone is Storybrooke. And quickly, running under the silhouettes of the tree branches, the dew-wet rain slick under his shoes, Henry finally found his feet pounding on concrete ground.

Down the pavement he would go, back home to before he –

“HENRY?”

He froze. Someone called out his name, loud and concerned. “Henry, what are you doing out here at twelve o’clock at night?”

Turning around, Henry spotted one familiar man walking down the pavement. Archibald Hopper, or Archie as people around the town knew him better as, was the town psychiatrist in all of Storybrooke, besides the hospital psychologist and so on. One of the most highly respected men in all of Storybrooke, there was (probably) no person in the whole of Storybrooke that didn’t know him and there was no person that, even on one time, Archie didn’t see in his office for a session. Beyond the office, Archie Hopper was a man of old-fashioned mannerisms and quiet charm, usually seen with his dog or with Marco and Violet, or sometimes, more often these days since the clock had first began to move in what seemed like years, close to the beach. And of course, Archie was easily recognized around Storybrooke; his bright red hair, his gangly height of 5’11, the bright eyes of blue, his usual signature fashion of wearing suit vests, crisp shirts and tweed jackets.

“I was looking for my mum, Archie, at the office but she isn’t there,” Henry said, fiddling with the buttons of his jacket. The best excuse that Henry had at the time, considering the other excuse, ‘exploring’, wouldn’t hold up seeing it 12 at the dead of night.

“Why? Shouldn’t you be sleeping?” Archie said kindly. He kneeled down on one knee, a cherry-red leash wrapped securely around his forearm, the long least connected to the navy-blue collar of his dog Pongo. Speckled with inky black dots upon his snow white coat, Pongo was a well-muscled and often playful Dalmatian that always seemed to accompany Archie wherever he went. He always enjoyed a good brisk walk every morning, loved a good scratch at the back of his neck and sometimes when Archie took Henry out to the park, Pongo adored a game of Frisbee – or simply love a game of how many squirrels he could chase up a tree.

 

“Um,” Henry said, trying to think of any type of excuse he could think at the moment. “…Nightmares.”

Archie’s eyebrows came together in a concerned expression, cocking his head to one side. Smiling gently, his hand came onto Henry’s shoulder and squeezed it firmly. “Nightmares, eh? Well, nightmares can be pretty scary, I admit. So you went to the office because you wanted to see your mom?”

 

“Um, yep.”

“In the middle of the night, on your own? Walking here on foor?” Archie’s voice reached a new octave, still keeping his voice low. His blue eyes drilled into Henry’s, keeping his head low. Henry never meant to scare Archie like this, and he never liked making him unhappy, seeing he was one of the few people who believed the Curse. To the last question, Henry gave a slight nod and Archie paled. “Henry,” Archie murmured, “I know Storybrooke’s a safe place, but bad things can still happen even if you’re the mayor’s son. And you know your mother would be heartbroken – I would be heartbroken – if something happened to you, right?”

Henry shivered in the midst of the midnight cold. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. And you know what? In spite of it all, having never regretted calling the Jeffersonian and the NYPD, there was one thing he was sorry for. Sorry for scaring Archie and, in spite of all things deep down inside, he was sorry for scaring his adopted mom.

Archie huffed. “Well, we better get you home, Henry. Your mother’s going to flip if she finds out at this hour at night.”

Henry gathered his bag around his shoulder, the weight of the storybook in his bag against his shoulder was one thing of the many that Henry adjusted to, compared to the therapist he seen ever since he were 7 actually having being Jiminy Cricket or his teacher being Snow White and his grandmother and most of all, to his horror and anger (and once upon a time, to his heartbreak) that the mother who loved him was in fact an Evil Queen who stole everyone’s happy endings (because in the end, the weight on his shoulder from the book was nothing to the weight on his heart from the truth. Because Evil Queen’s couldn’t really love someone, could they?) “How are you going to take me home?”

Archie seemed to think about it carefully. “I’d take the bus. It’s faster and right now Henry, you’re freezing.” And apparently Pongo agreed with one little bark, Henry scratching him at the back.

 

“Okay,” Henry said. Archie made the way first, Henry following him naturally while Archie gave Henry a chance to walk Pongo, making sure (at least three times) that Henry had the leash safely wrapped around his forearm. It was five minutes that they found a bus stop and just right on time, a bus came rolling in as the rain came rolling down.

The pair didn’t speak, but kept close to each other, close enough for the unknowing passerby to think that Henry was Archie’s son and Archie Henry’s father biologically (but emotionally, you didn’t need magic to uncover to know). Fifteen minutes passed by, fifteen minutes had slipped away as the bus stopped just three blocks away from Henry’s home. And as Archie hugged Henry goodbye and the bus doors closed on the frosty night, Archie thought of the dreams that made his linger on such long hours ever since the clock came alive.

(A woman with the brightest copper red hair and eyes of aquamarine twirled and danced and glided through water and in the midst of a chaos spun from living puppets, gold-spinning imps and brooms that almost made a room into a ocean, stabbed him right in the heart with a long dagger of silver. And yet, for a reason he could never understand, he didn’t care at all. All as the image of the beautiful girl – angel or monster hiding as one, he could not decide – glided into his memory and slipped to the back of his eyelids as he woke up in a cold sweat.)

And as the frost and rain and shadows chased Henry into the glided doors of his home, up the winding staircase and into the warmth of his bed, Henry himself slipped into a dream in the midst of the frost-edged darkness . Of snow capped mountains where dragons melted snow with one fiery breath, lands of ice where snow queens ruled and and shards of ice could make your hair turn white and heart as frozen as winter, deserts of red hot sands where carpets flew and genies in lamps could grant three wishes of your hearts desire, seas that pirates sailed upon in search of adventure and treasures and underneath the waves did mermaids sing songs that could capture any mans heart, forests where princesses thieved and where at day was one a red-hood girl but at full moon night did one became a beast, and a radiant palace built upon a mirror lake where Henry was a knight and he had a ebony-haired, snow-skinned princess as his grandma, a blue-eyed and lionhearted king as his grandpa, a golden-haired and brave saviour-princess as his mother and a icy-eyed, autumn-haired and clever anthropologist as his adopted aunt.

* * *

 

But back in the Jeffersonian, everything was far from a dream.

As Henry dropped off the call, a shock-wrapped silence had stolen everyone’s voices and dipped the air into a sense of stress. Like one word and everything would break like glass and everything would go straight to hell. Hodgins was the first to say what everyone was thinking:

“Holy shit.”

Brennan breathed in, breathed out. People always tell you to breathe when you’re under stress.  What was stress? Stress was water that trickled into her lungs and became an ocean of memories, nearly drowning Brennan and sinking her down to an ocean floor that never existed. Stress was a monster that curled up to your heart and sat upon it, a little monster called truth that was on all days was Brennan’s friend but today became her enemy. Stress was a corset of rib bones that pulled against her lungs and tightened until she could she could feel her desperate heartbeat against her skin and under her sternum.

_Emma Swan_. She breathed the two words in and out. _Emma Ruth Leopolda Swan_. Two names, Emma’s middle names were added, Brennan breathing the name into herself, into her air and into her blood. Brennan knew Emma’s full name ever since she first came, seeing she was cheeky enough at age 11 to steal the foster files and go over Emma’s details.

And Emma knew her whole name too. _Temperance Minerva Brennan_. One day, one summer day where Brennan was 12 and Emma was only 9, when the Emma was unfortunate enough to have gotten meningitis from Rena Evans, Brennan’s mom suggested seeing what their names meant. Back in the days of old, Brennan’s mom said as Brennan recalled, a name held powerful magic and could determine your fate. Apparently, Emma meant ‘universal’, Ruth ‘ friend’ and Leopolda ‘princess of the people’. And sadly, to her dislike, Temperance was a virtue meaning ‘moderation’ and Minerva was the Roman goddess of wisdom, the name meaning the same.

So if destiny was to say something, Emma would one day become a princess, princess of the whole world and be friends with everybody in her school and everybody she met and Temperance would one day become the goddess of wisdom but would always be moderating herself from eating sweets all the time; something that Temperance pouted out. But according to destiny, as Emma pointed out and Brennan once promised, since the pair shared the same surname ‘Brennan’, they would always be sisters. But apparently, through meaning, would their surname be a curse. Because Brennan, a Irish surname, carried the meaning of ‘sorrow’.

_How ironic_ , Brennan would think 20 years after that day.

 

“Brennan,” Angela started, looking up from her lap and right into her best friend’s eyes, “you have a sister? A little sister?”

“Why, why didn’t you tell us anything? She could have helped you with finding your mom and,-”

“Guys, lay off.” Castle quietly interrupted Booth, Booth looking at the phone in utter surprise, still standing over at the glass doors and close to the corpse. Right now, Brennan would give up everything and anything to be that mummy. “Tempy, doesn’t need to explain things to you. Her secrets are her secrets, and shes allowed to keep them if she wants to.”

“I have a nephew.” Brennan began to speak after what seemed like almost hours of nothing but silence, the words soft but clear. “My adopted sister had a son. And she’s… she’s probably 28, my god, she had a son…”

“And she’s in Storybrooke,” Castle reminded her. And as if the fates was listening, there was that tell-tale bing. Angela rushed from behind Hodgins and Cam and made her way over to her unit, candlelight set on the tables and glinting on the screen of the large computer, the home of Angela’s three-dimensional holographic computer system. The desksaver of moving fish and transformed back into a windowless desktop, with one click did Angela bring up the Jeffersonians Forensic Department email.

“Did any of you get an email from….” Castle quizzically asked.

“Mills.Regina@Storybrooke.com.au?” Cam completed the answer, coming over to Angela clicked the email:

  

_Title: How to get to Storybrooke – Henry here!!!_

_To: Forensicsdepartment@JeffersonianInstitute.com.au, FireflyFanForever@yahoo.com.au_

_From: Mills.Regina@Storybrook.com.au_

_Attached: StorybrookeDirectionsfromBoston.jpg_

_Dear Mr Castle, Detective Beckett, Detective Esposito, Detective Ryan, Dr Parish, Dr Brennan, Dr Hodgins, Dr Saroyan, Agent Booth and Miss Montenegro,_

_I sent over a map, which is directions from Boston and to Storybrooke, the only map you’re going to find to Storybrooke. The time from Boston to Storybrooke will take four hours on a car; you can’t take a train or a cab because they won’t know. I’ll explain to you when you get there. It’s pretty big and looks really nice, so I think you’ll like it. It’s kinda like Main Street USA, except without the big Cinderella Castle from Disneyworld, I think you’ll like it._

_Emma works as the town deputy in Storybrooke, with Sheriff Graham. But, she mostly comes to Granny’s Diner, which is on Main Street of Storybrooke as you drive in. You’ll want to take money over to get rooms at Granny’s Motel; as far as I remember, I think its 100 dollars a night and per room. I’ll get my mom and explain the details of the murder to you. All I know is that he or she is a skeleton, my mom Emma is working on it and the body came from New York._

_Please come over as soon as you can. Hopefully tomorrow. Please._

_From,_

_Henry Mills_

_P.S Don’t reply to this email. Instead, reply to Grade4email@Storybrooke.com.au so I can see it. I’ll just say it’s a science project. :P_

 

“So, I’m guessing he really wanted us to come over, eh?” Hodgins suggested.

Brennan walked over, looking over at the phone. “Henry mentioned he was adopted, so he’s probably using his adopted mother’s email to contact us.”

“Then, if he’s adopted,” Ryan said curiously, “why is Emma in the same town?”

“Henry did mention it was a pretty big town,” Esposito suggested.

“Or it may have being a case of Henry being placed into a open adoption,” Cam said sagely. “It would explain why he knows so much about his mother and her job, seeing the biological mother often has a part in raising the child in open adoption cases.”

“Question is,” Booth asked, “why didn’t the Mayor decide to contact us?” Suspicion played upon his face, his hands upon his hips and right eyebrow raised. Brennan had seen it one too many times to know that it was a face that conveyed worry, that sense that not all was not quite being told.

“She probably wanted to rely on local authorities,” Kate said. Everyone raised their eyebrows. “Guys, remember,” Kate muttered exasperatedly, “Henry’s adopted mom _is_ the Mayor. Probably explains why Henry doesn’t want us to reply to this email.”

“Mayor’s kid and the deputy’s kid, too.” Hodgins smirked, rocking on the balls of his feet with a smirk. “Kind of like being the president’s kid on a smaller scale. And double the trouble, for using the mayor’s email.”

 

Brennan looked over the email, thinking. It was clear that by description, this was under the authority of her team and Kate’s team; there was evidence of the corpse being a New York citizen and the corpse apparently was ‘a skeleton’ as Henry (her adoptive nephew) described, meaning that the corpse was beyond normal forensic recognition. It was their business.

“So,” Brennan authortively said, “I suppose someone should reply to Henry and perhaps, make our way to it.”

Brennan made a twist and made her way out of the room.

“But what about Emma?”

Angela’s voice called out. Brennan stopped, turning around to see her best friend. Brennan walked back in, looking over all of their best friend’s faces. There was Hodgins, full of so many questions, almost looking betrayed. There was Cam, her professional face forgone and waiting for an answer. And there was Booth and Angela, full of concern and yet so full of love, it nearly made Brennan’s heart tear to her seam. As if it wasn’t torn in more ways than one now.

Angela walked over, Brennan turning her head away, darkness shrouding her expression. The room was a work of chiaroscuro, with the candlelight and the darkness of midnight. “Brennan,” Angela put her hands gently on her shoulders, “Henry and Emma live in Storybrooke. Your nephew and sister, your adopted sister.” Brennan turned to face Angela, her eyes portraying her struggle between her mask of perfected coldness and flood of tears ready to roll in. “You could see her again. You could see Emma, you could be…”

“Be a family again?” Brennan’s voice was a croak, her vocal chords mixed in-between of a sob ready to be born, a frightened whisper and a bitter mutter. Sorrow, fear and bitterness. Those walls, built brick by brick with every heartbreak and every letdown and every passing day that Brennan’s parents never came to take her home, were clearly there. Except in all those times, there was that crack, right down to the epicentre.

 

“We can never be a family again.” It was a statement, her voice unsteady and low. “Not after Mom… Mom and Dad left.” Brennan put her nose in the air, much like how someone dipped their nose in the air to stop blood from a broken cartilage in their nose dripping into their mouth. Even there, there was that unusual brightness in her eyes that could be seen.

“But you looked for her.”

This time, it was Castle. His voice was gentle and slow, Brennan hanging onto every word, his voice a lighthouse in the midst of the storm just brewed minutes ago. “Remember? Ever since you were 19,” Castle recalled, everyone on the end of the pone quiet, “ ever since I first met you, you always looked for her. The first time I met you,” Castle tenderly recalled, Angela raising her eyebrows again and Booth suspiciously flickering his eyes between Brennan and the phone, “You were in New York, studying in Colombia University. I was running to pick up Alexis from daycare,-”

“-Because you had to stay behind to sort out your studying habits in your Creative Writing degree.” Brennan completed the sentence. Her voice still unsteady. But this time, Angela could spy, to some degree of relief, a small smile.

“I was running ike hell and at the time, I was in the midst of writers block. And then, like fate wanted it to happen,” – Brennan’s smile gotten bigger at the memory – “I crashed right into you, coffee in hand, completely drench your coat and Emma’s birth documents. 19 years old, just a intern, and as far as I know, you spent almost all your wages and nearly drove yourself homeless on trying to find Emma.”

 

Brennan closed her eyes. From the memory, she could already smell the frosted air of New York winter that melted thirteen years ago and the smell of coffee and hot dogs on sale, the crunch of green slush underneath her feet and the feeling of the manila folder containing Emma’s birth records.

Emma Ruth Leopolda  (had no registered surname until adoption by the Brennan’s according to notes) was found as a newborn, according to forensic evidence, only two hours old at the side of a road in Maine by a young boy around the age of ten and ranaway from social services before they could discover his identity. (but in Brennan’s heart, she would always remember that boy as Emma’s saviour when her parents left her to fend in the world. One thing now they had in common.) She was rushed to a nearby diner, social services in Maine were alerted and Emma was placed into foster services with August.

That was all that private detective Nydia Lynch could discover. 19 years old, Brennan was in Columbia as a graduate from Honour’s Roll and a intern in anthropology and after a couple of months, Brennan was able to afford a private detective who could help her pick up the pieces after the foster system separated the pair of them. Separation of siblings, foster system policy said, increased the chance of families being more willing to take in children within the foster system and must likely take them in as adoptees. Brennan had a lot of words she wanted to say to that statement; all were foul and would make a sailor look tame.

So, as she remembered, it was a winter afternoon and right at the steps of the library was reviewing the witness report of the couple (Lydia and Freddie Stiers, she read, sophomores out on a date) that seen the boy and Emma. That was until a young Richard Castle, or who she more dearly remembered as Richard Rodgers, suddenly bumped into her. Coffee went flying everywhere; including the birth records she spent $230’s on recovering from sealed foster files. She had to sleep with five layers of blankets that night since she was already in debt seeing it nearly cost her everything to hire Detective Lynch in the first place.

Here’s what happened next: Brennan swore up a storm. Richard just stood there and tried to say he was sorry. Brennan swore even more, probably looking like a mad woman. Richard tried to wipe the coffee from her coat. Brennan bitchslapped him in the face, thinking he was trying to grope her. And Richard ended up with a bleeding nose, all while even more late to getting Alexis from day care.

 

But, as Brennan remembered, it gotten better, thankfully. Castle offered to replace the files for her, seeing his mother, Martha, was pretty wealthy. And seeing she was desperate, Brennan accepted; something that even today, she would never change, no matter how high her pride was.

So, Brennan accompanying him to Alexis’s day care, one question had transformed into many, Brennan finally getting a feeling of how her anthropology professor felt now and ever since then, gained some degree of compassion for him. At first, sharing her life with Emma was a wall that Richard would never pass, not a chance. Other things came up instead, the questions transforming into more comfortable questions. What degree was she studying? Where, from what state, did she come from? How high was her IQ? How did she get that strong in being able to cause a nosebleed in one slap? Her answers were; Anthropology, Burtonsville, 165 and she learnt from self-defence textbooks when she could and once was a ballet dancer.

And apparently, Richard couldn’t get enough of her. Because when Brennan and Richard walked themselves over to the day care, just as Richard checked his daughter out and scooped little three year old Alexis into his arms, Richard asked to come with him and Alexis to McDonalds.

“I’m a vegetarian, Richard,” young, 19-year-old, world-hardened-and-toughened Temperance Brennan said coldly, the coldness in her voice never reaching the girl’s eyes as she watched little flamed-haired Alexis nestle into her fathers arms.

“There’s veggie options. And toys with the fruit cuts if I remember,” young, 20-year-old, sweetly-innocent-and-childish Richard Rodgers suggested brightly, a small playful smile playing at his lips, Temperance wondering if he was even real.

“And you’d want me there, why?” Temperance Brennan asked.

And he smiled. “Because I still want to ask you a few more questions.” As if it was the answer to everything. And for a reason that Temperance could never remember, she followed along.

 

“I remember every part of it,” Brennan said to Castle, right now in the present as the shadows hid her and the candlelight showed the dust dancing in the air, “the questions, Alexis, you taking me to McDonald’s…”

“Just like yesterday.”

“Just like yesterday,” Brennan repeated from Castle.

“And ever since that day, I know that you wanted to find Emma, for the whole decade that I knew you,” Castle said, sure of himself. Angela was clearly thinking of how he knew her, pondering between platonic or more; Brennan was thinking of much more. The years they spent trying to find her, even when at Detective Lynch’s wise words, there was nothing else to look for. Emma Ruth Leopolda Brennan, having being placed back into the foster system at the age of 11 with the disappearance of Christine Brennan and Matthew Brennan and Russel Brennan having placed both Temperance and Emma into foster care, was put into five more foster homes. It was in her last foster home within Boston after a violent attack from her foster mother, that Emma had runaway at the age of 16 and social services was unable to track her. All to Temperance’s despair and Castle’s reassurances that somewhere, Emma would pop back up.

She never stopped. She never did, even now at this year, Brennan always kept checking, looking for Emma. Talking to Emma’s social worker, going over files. Checking over police reports, checking with police officers over Emma Brennan’s status; always still a coldcase to all of them. Months turned to years; Brennan was no longer 19 but 32. She set almost a whole decade. And now, Brennan was just in the beginning of accepting Emma as another part of her past that was thrown into the wind.

Until now.

 

“You have a chance handed right to you,” Hodgins chimed in, “use it. Please, for all of our sakes, you need to find her.”

“We could turn the trip into you and all of us, going to Storybrooke and being with Emma,. Finding your family,” Angela offered. Behind her, Hodgins seemed headstrong at that idea, the pair only having to exchange eye contact to create another plan.

“And we can be with you,” Hodgins added. “Once we finish investigating the murder, we can stay in Storybrooke for the three months of the Jeffersonian holidays. And Henry here,” – gestured to the email with a small, thoughtful smile – “Henry said that the place is like Main Street USA. And somehow, something tells me I’ll like the place.”

 

“Wait.” This time, Lanie was speaking, “you have a three-month holiday too?”

“Yes, we do,” Cam said. “The Jeffersonian Institute has a private holiday for members of the forensic team, where a emergency team is put into place and we go on holidays from June, July and September. Just much like some team members,” Cam recalled, “in the homicide department back in New York get a three month holiday, in honour of their services. You gotten it?”

“Everybody in our team has,” Kate said, subtly impressed at her recall of memory. “You’ve got a good memory, I give you that.”

“Well, there’s a reason why I’m the forensic pathologist and Head of the Forensic Department,” Cam said clearly.

“Perhaps, we could come over Brennan?” Castle suggested it, clearly hopeful that Brennan would say yes. “Yes, the murder in our district but Brennan, it’s being three years since I last seen you. I could introduce you to my friends, and I could bring over Martha and Alexis. It’s being three years since you last seen them too.”

Brennan felt her heart tremble at her name. _Alexis_. The red-haired girl could be found in every memory she thought of within New York, a thousand memories for every year that Brennan knew her. Three years old, munching happily on fries; five years old, dancing around Castle’s apartment in a Ariel costume; eight years old, looking around the New York battery park for human bones like the ones that Brennan herself dug up; ten years old, watching Mulan and the Little Mermaid in her lap with a bowl of salty popcorn; twelve years old, trying on her makeup that she sneaked from Brennan’s bag. Thirteen years old, not quite a girl and not quite a woman, begging Brennan not to go.

That memory stung.

“Do you actually think, she’ll be happy to see me?” Brennan softly said.

Castle actually made a surprised sound. “What do you think? She’ll be happy to see you, overjoyed! Once she sees you, she’ll be over the moon!” Castle laughed. “Man, I can’t wait to see her face when she sees you, after three years! Ha!”

Brennan herself was unsure if she wanted to see her face after this time, her reaction to her.

 

“And all of us?” Ryan asked.

“As said,” Esposito chimed in, “Castle would like us to meet you and the others.”

“Please?” Ryan added, his voice close to the edge of begging.

Brennan huffed. She looked around everyone, Angela enthustically nodding. And not far from her view, Brennan could almost see Cam pleading with her eyes. “It would be wonderful to see them again,” Cam whispered.

Brennan sighed, seeing a decision had being made. “Fine. Yes, all of you can stay in Storybrooke, after the murder has being investigated.” Other the phone, Brennan could hear Ryan and Esposito slap hands and Kate make disapproving sounds. And Cam, right behind her, made a small jump of excitement, something that almost everyone but Brennan noticed.

“Booth,” Hodgins said excitedly, clapping his hands together and clasping them in front of him, gesturing to the phone, his voice now serious “How are we going to get to Boston and then to Storybrooke?”

Hodgins came behind him, shrugging his head. “I’ve got the hired bus ready. It can take up to ten people, very comfortable. We,” – Hodgins gestured to all of them, – “can use the van and drive over into New York, and pick up the four of you and then, drive up to Boston and then drive down to Storybrooke. Angela,” he turned to her, smiling, “you’ve got the computer. Can you tell us how much time it will take on car to get to Storybrooke?”

“My pleasure.” Angela typed down the route from Washington D.C to New York and then Boston, a map conjured up by computer system. It only took a matter of seconds to get the estimation. “Well, guys,” Angela said, “to get from Washington D.C and to New York, it will take up to 3 hours and 47 minutes. And from New York to Boston, it will take 3 hours and 44 minutes. And consulting up from the map,” Angela drew up a window of the map that Henry attached to the email, “it will take 4 hours to get to Storybrooke. So, the total hours it will take to Storybrooke is around eleven hours.”

“Well, it’s half a day,” Brennan noted. “Why don’t we get going tomorrow? At 1 PM? We’ll all be in Storybrooke at 11 PM, check in at Granny’s Motel as Henry told us and get some sleep and settle into Storybrooke.”

“Settled,” Cam said. “Everyone is going to bring over their own money?”

“I’ll settle the cost for the hotel rooms, everyone, don’t worry about that,” Castle said. “It’s all on me, think nothing of it.”

 

Hodgins smirked. “Thanks, Castle. Everyone here can get their baggage settled at 1 PM and make their way to the Jeffersonian tomorrow? Right?” Hodgins asked. Everyone nodded and said yes here and there.

“And,” Kate added, “everyone here in New York can get their bags packed and over at Castle’s apartment at 4 PM? Agreed?” In unison, everyone has said yes. “Alright then, I’ll email Hodgins the location of Castle’s apartment in the morning, alright?”

“Yes, detective,” Hodgins said. “So, off to bed! It’s around midnight and we need to get some sleep for the road trip to Storybrooke. Everyone have a good night!”

“And I’ll write up the reply to Henry!” Castle brightly said, “guys, goodnight!”

“Have some sweet dreams, Camille,” Lanie cried to Cam, the lady practically glowing with her large grin.

“See you all tomorrow, everyone,” Kate responded.

“Good night, y’all,” Ryan said, yawning after the sentence, clearly tired.

“See ya later,” Espositio shouted over everyone’s goodbyes, clearly excited for the adventure coming forth.

And soon, in replacement to their lively voices, there was that monotone sound that gave hint to the end of call. Pressing the ending button, Brennan let the phone fall silent. “So, everyone in agreement? Tomorrow, the Jeffersonian, 1 PM with all your bags for three months. Alright?”

“Yep,” Everyone chimed in. And everyone made their way out. Cam made a quick walk out the place, a still bright grin on her face from thinking of Lanie, Kate and everyone back at New York. Hodgins ran out the glass doors, clearly intending on getting on with packing his bags and getting some sleep for tomorrow. But Booth and Angela stayed behind, lingering in the office with Brennan.

“Bones,” Booth said gently, calling her by that nickname, “are you alright with this? Seeing Emma, seeing this Castle person and Alexis…”

“I’m fine, Booth and Angela,” Brennan quickly said, cutting off whatever kind words Angela had in store for her. Right now, Brennan just wanted to get back to her apartment and be alone for a long time, to her thoughts and memories. She was so close to finding Emma, to finding some piece of her family again. Then why did all of this felt like the red sky in morning, before a storm at sea?

Brennan rushed to all of the candles, fetching the candlesnuffer from her desk. Behind her back, Angela shared a look with Booth, no words having to spoken as the worry in her eyes spoke for her instead. And all that Booth did was shrug, portraying the fact that Brennan’s decisions was hers alone, no matter how large the consequences.  So with that, the click of Angela’s shoes heralded the disappearance of Booth and Angela.

Within minutes, all the candles were snuffed out with Brennan’s trembling hand. The whole of Brennan trembled, down to her lungs where her breathing was laboured with an effort to hold in undignified sobs. Making the office as dark as the thoughts that stirred in her heart and cracked the walls she built up. So powerful was the effect of those little memories of Emma.

* * *

 

Henry received an email from Castle the day after the night, finding one right in the 4th grade email in library period where he was suppose to be researching up Christopher Columbus for his history project. Getting himself comfortable on the desk chair facing on the computers that lined up on the right wall of the library, a task which provided was impossible considering the fact that the chairs were made of plastic that would turn your back into a thousand cricks in a hour, he clicked on the email application and signed in for the Grade 4 email account. Only to find a new email:

 

_Title: Science Project!_

_To: Grade4email@Storybrooke.com.au_

_From: FireflyFanForever@yahoo.com.au_

_Hey there kid,_

_When you get this email, we’ll all be on our way to Storybrooke. Thanks for all of your tips on how to get to Storybrooke and  for getting that map. We’ve all agreed to come over for three months to see you and your actual mom, Emma. Until then, see you later._

_From,_

_Richard Castle_

 

Henry grinned, thinking of what he would be able to tell Emma and Archie when Dr. Brennan finally came into town, just as he logged off and followed the sound of Miss Blanchard’s calls to come back into his classroom. He had much to wait for when his adoptive aunt came into town with her friends. And then, Henry thought to himself, I can tell them about the Curse and finally get it broken.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all the people that send me kudos, it truly means the world to me. Now, as you can tell, the next chapter you will finally see the beautiful and clever and badass Princess Emma Ruth Leopolda Swan along with her big sister Tempy and her (coughex-boyfriendcoughcough) friend Castle. And perhaps, maybe even the appearance of two pairs of green eyed monsters called Beckett and Booth....

**Author's Note:**

> Hello there, readers!
> 
> I hope you enjoyed the prologue! This book along with others, is basically exploring the world around Once Upon a Time and reinventing side characters within the OUAT show; all while having the characters of BONES have some influence into the story of the Enchanted Chronicles. Because of this, the storylines within the world of the Once Upon a Time series will be slightly altered. Characters like Archie Hopper, Leroy, Sister Astrid (along with the occasional OC) will be apart of the main cast but, this does not mean that side characters will be shown. Here, I will be exploring different characters from fairytales and integrating them into the essence of OUAT. Oh, and have the cast of BONES and Castle play apart of the plots within the retold stories of OUAT. :3
> 
> Please enjoy and feel welcome to review,
> 
> Nee


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